


Til I'm Gathered Safely In

by DinosaurTheology



Category: Superstore (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Short & Sweet, Slow Dancing, Sweet, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinosaurTheology/pseuds/DinosaurTheology
Summary: Amy needs to learn ballroom dancing and fast. Jonah seems like the kind of guy who's taken a ballroom dance class or two in his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got another one done! And after such a sweet episode this week, too. I tell you, guys, this advanced EMT class is rough. I'll be thankful when it's done and I can get back to writing as much as I want to!

Amy draws a deep breath and says, "So, I kinda need to learn how to dance."

Jonah pauses at the shelf, a can of Angelic brand green beans poised to make its landing but not quite achieving contact. He furrows his brow. "Is this like a lifelong goal thing or a, you know, terrorists have kidnapped someone close to you and instead of going Liam Neeson on em you're going to defeat them with your rhythm or...?"

She rolls her eyes. "None of the above, jerk. It's my cousin Rosa's wedding--two weeks out and I'm maid-of-honor. As corny and stupid as it sounds the bridesmaids and ushers do a, like, synchronized dance with the bride and groom. Normally it would be Adam and me, and he's as clumsy as I am but..." She shrugs. "I mean that's not happening for obvious reasons, right? And the guy that Rosa has asked to step in for him..."

He sets the can down, seems to contemplate picking up another and crosses his arms across his chest instead. "Pretty good dancer, huh?"

She pulls her phone from her pocket and pulls up a video of her soon to be dance partner on Youtube. "Reimundo Guitierrez. And I'm not sure pretty good covers it, Jonah. His feet aren't even touching the ground."

He releases a breath he'd been holding for the duration of the man's onscreen undulation. "Is that dancing or a new martial art or some kind of physics experiment or--"

She taps the stop button and returns the phone to her jeans. "I don't think it matters what it was. All that matters is that I'm going to dance with this guy at Rosita's wedding and make a total fool of myself." Her eyes narrow into slits. "And don't think that this is an accident--no. Rosa knows what I dance like, how uncoordinated I am. She saw me clothesline myself on a limbo bar at her twenty-first birthday--and I was sober, Jonah. Sober! She could have paired me with Lefty Ramirez or Gozalo el Gordo or somebody like that. She wants me to look like an idiot at her wedding. She wants me to look like an idiot cause I got the nylon string Yamaha when our Abuelo died but I will learn to play it one day, Jonah. I will!"

She begins to hyperventilate and loses the train of her rant. Jonah takes this opportunity, knowing he may not get another, to say, "Well, it might not be all that bad. You could just, like, try to follow his lead."

She shows him another video. In it Reimundo and his partner have formed a swirling mass of flesh and grace just on this side of comprehension. Jonah runs a hand through his hair. "Well, uh... I guess that was maybe kind of a bad idea. Trying to follow that without someone that's trained in aerospace medicine standing by might be actually fatal."

"No kidding," she says, and slumps against his shoulder. "I dunno what to do. I dunno what to do! Either I bow out of the wedding and it's 'oh, poor Amy, her life is falling apart, she can't even make it to her cousin's wedding,' or I go and try to dance with this guy and end up either looking like a donkey or with a dislocated, like, entire body." She sighs. "Rosita. You bitch."

"So, uh... not to question your thought process or anything," Jonah says, "but why have you come to me for your dancing lesson needs?"

"Okay, first of all that is totally questioning my thought process," Amy says, "and secondly, well..."

"Well?"

"Well, you just seem like the kind of guy who may have taken a ballroom dance class or two in his life."

He frowns. "Really? Stereotypes are so beneath you, Amelia." To her raised eyebrow he responds. "Okay, so I did take four years of swing and tango between eleventh grade and my junior year of college but, in my defense, those are not classical ballroom dance per se."

"The fact that you know the difference between classical ballroom dance per se and... whatever else proves that you're exactly the guy I need for these lessons. Besides... it's not like I'll be totally awful to dance with. I was prom queen, after all."

"You were a cheerleader dating the quarterback," he says. "That had nothing to do with dancing."

"Still counts," she says, and then, "Please? Please-please?"

He rolls his eyes. "Okay. Jeez. You can stop with the big, brown puppy eyes. It's kinda creeping me out."

She smiles. It's a wide, bright grin that he hasn't seen much of lately. It's good to see again. "Still worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah," he says, and tosses the smile back to her. "I guess it did. So... wanna do this at your place tomorrow night?"

"Sure. I'll let Emma have some dad time so that she doesn't find out her mom is a total clutz."

"Oh, Amy... I'm sure she already knows."

The smile grows wider and she brays that loud, unafraid laugh he fell in love with. "Shut up! Why can't we do it at your place?"

"Emma may know you're a total clutz already but Garret doesn't know you're trying to learn to dance. Wanna change that?"

"Good point," she says through the giggles. "Does seven sound good?"

"I'll be there with bells on."

"Please don't wear bells." They leave it there and get back to stocking.


	2. Chapter 2

He arrives at Amy's house at 6:58--a couple of minutes early is always better than late--and knocks. He doesn't have bells on but is wearing the canary and kelly green checked number and gambler's hat he favored all those years ago during dance class. He feels more than a little pleased that it still fits so well and it can't help but sting just a little when Amy opens the door and offers the giggle that he loves. "Jeez," she says. "I thought I was gonna learn to dance, not get clown murdered."

He frowns. "I'll have you know this is an authentic ninteties knock-off of a vintage forties zoot suit, miss. To enjoy the dance a certain... ambiance is important."

"My ambiance is a sweatshirt and yoga pants, bud. You're pretty much gonna have to live with that."

He observes how the black pants in question hug her legs and hips and shrugs. "I am oddly okay with that. May I come in?"

"It'd be kinda hard for you to teach me how to dance out here on the front porch, right?" She turns to lead him into the house and the way she walks in those pants makes it a little hard to remember that he has a perfectly nice girl waiting for him at home. 

The living room furniture has been pushed walls and stacked on top of itself. She has a few cds picked out for the occasion. He notes Cab Calloway and His Orchestra and is pleased. An oldie but the goodies don't come any sweeter. He's brought his own but they'll go with what she has for a start. "So," she says, "are you ready?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you ready to teach me how to dance," she says, and links her arms behind his neck. Their warm pressure is almost as intoxicating as the White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor that she wears and the scent of wintergreen altoids on her breath.

"Sure," he mumbles, "sure. Let's go." It doesn't feel as smooth as a dandy in an authentic ninteties knock off of a forties zoot suit should be able to manage and "Reefer Man" is maybe just a trifle quick for beginners. They thrash around the living room like wrestlers and end up in a heap beside her couch. "Old Man of the Mountain" produces very little resembling dance but includes a decent suplex and "St. James Infirmary Blues" almost sends both of them to the emergency room.

Finally she slumps to the ground and leans against a dusty pink evening chair. He sits beside her. Sweat beads stand out on her brow. She's breathing hard, says between pants, "Damn! This sucks. I mean, I suck. You're a good teacher, I guess. I just... I'm not gonna get it."

"I think you will," he says. "But this isn't the right music."

"Dude, at this point I think the only 'right' music for me would be the sound of trash cans falling over."

"Nah, nah, you're being too hard on yourself." He stands, brushes off his suit, walks to the table and selects a CD. "We're gonna try something a little bit different. I think you'll like it." He offers her his hand. "If you're ready, that is."

She takes it and hauls herself to her feet. "I'm game. What are we doing?"

He draws her close while the sinuous strands over music superheated until they are liquid weave around them. "Picture a cool desert night in Buenos Aires, or it could be Montevideo. Or maybe it's a warm evening in Havana and memories of la habenera linger in our souls. It's a hundred years ago, or more. We're poor."

She chuckles. He feels their hearts race at the nearness and sheer physicality of this dance, how this music quickens the pulse. "Not gonna have to pretend there. We are poor."

"All the better," he says. "We're poor and we have nothing but the music. Each other. The moon. The tango."

"This is so freakin' cheesy," she says, but cannot help falling into his words. She picks on him for it a lot but maybe that's why she does it. Jonah has a smooth tongue and if a girl isn't careful it might be too easy to fall under his spell. Just ask poor Kelly, right?

They spin together, draw close and then apart, march across the floor. She can feel the cool wind after a hot day on the pampas. His heart beats against her chest. Her own throbs in her temples, at her wrists, right below her illiac crest. The world dissolves into a blur of smooth sound and strong, sure hands.

Neither is sure who initiates the kiss but it melts into lava and lingers for a long, long time.

He breaks is by slamming her back to arms length. "Oh jeez," he says, "oh God... I am so, so sorry."

She's stunned, for a moment, says, "Whuzzat?"

"That! I mean, I... you... me... Kelly! I so hope that this is not a hastag me too moment."

A lazy smile crawls across her face, and then dissolves. "It's not, Jonah... unless it's me, too, I guess. And don't worry so much. Things... happen, I guess? Yeah. Things happen. Besides, we're in Buenos Aires, tonight, or Montevideo. Maybe Havana. Kelly's a long way away."

"Yeah, I guess," he says, "And memories of la habanera linger on the cool night air."

"I can smell cigars," she says, "and coconuts." Her eyes slip shut. He draws her closs while the music swells. Both of them know it's a bad idea but neither one can seem to stop.


End file.
